


Warmth and Constancy

by apliddell



Series: Irrational and Sentimental [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock set about making their happy announcement</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hi, it’s John.”

“John, yes. How nice to hear from you.”

“Thanks, well. I just thought you’d want to know he said yes.”

“Ahh! I thought he would. Thank you, John. Congratulations.”

“Thanks Mycroft.”

“John, it was my tremendous pleasure, I assure you.”

…

 

You and John want to come out for a drink with Greg and me on Friday?  
~Molly~

 

Can’t. We’ll be in the country, visiting my parents.  
-SH

 

That’s very filial of you.  
~Molly~

 

It happens to the best of us.  
-SH

 

Everything all right?  
~Molly~

 

Yes, all fine. We’re only announcing our engagement. John says it’s the done thing to manage these affairs face to face.  
-SH

 

What are you doing? Why are you calling?  
-SH

 

I want to talk to you! Pick up!  
~Molly~

…

 

“Sherlock Holmes here.”

“You’re getting married?!”

“Yes, shhh. Don’t shout. You’re already speaking into a microphone, Molly. You nearly blew my ear off.”

“Sorry!”

“Shhh. Yes, we’re getting married. John asked me on Sunday.”

“Oh my god! Well what happened? How did he do it?”

“He said ‘Will you marry me?’ and I said I would. How else could it be done? Telepathy?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“How flattering. Nevertheless, telepathy is a fictional ability, and that’s a barrier I’ve been unable to break to date.”

“You came back from the dead.”

“True.”

“Can I talk to John?”

“He’s out.”

“Is he still allowed?”

“Very funny. I say out. He went down to Speedy’s, so I didn’t have to put my trousers on.”

“What a good husband.”

“I know.”

…

 

Congratulations, by the way.  
~Molly~

 

I meant to say before, but it slipped my mind.  
~Molly~

 

I am happy for you, only I was a bit surprised is all.  
~Molly~

 

Yes, I understand. Thank you.  
-SH

 

All my best to John.  
~Molly~

 

Thank you, Molly.  
-SH


	2. Chapter 2

“But they already like you!”

“Right but,” John pauses as he pulls his jumper over his head and tosses it on the bed. “They like me as your sadsack old flatmate, not as your future husband. I mean I haven’t even spoken to them since we started going out, and now we’re getting married, and it’s just.” He pauses to consider his other jumper options and holds up a heather blue v-neck. “This one?”

“Yes, that’s fine. And all the others have been fine as well.”

John pulls the jumper on and turns to look in the mirror, “Except for the first one.” He glares at my reflection and smooths his hair.

“The first one was fine as well, only it didn’t match your trousers. You weren’t a sadsack.”

“Well if it was fine, then you didn’t need to say anything. Fairly sure I was at nearly my most pathetic.” John’s tone is almost light, but he looks away, his shoulders hunched and his head down. Little swirl of shame in my stomach followed by a hot spark of rage(she took so much from him so casually)(no, stop; can’t think of that now).

Swallow it all down, and rise from the bed to rub his shoulder, “You were amazing. You were perfect. It was riding on you, and you carried it off. I absolutely could not have done better.” John raises his hand to cover mine on his shoulder and nods as he listens, though his mouth is still glumly downturned. “Let’s pretend I never said anything about your jumper and you can put it back on. I’ve deleted it. There, I’ve deleted all my opinions about the interactions of violet and brown. Please put the jumper back on, John; it looked so nice.” John laughs a little reluctantly and leans back toward me. Sling an arm about his waist and nuzzle his ear, “Violet does unlawfully nice things for your eyes.” Watch his reflected expression flicker out of the tail of my eye.

John turns in my arms to hug me and kisses my cheek. I lay my head on his shoulder, and we look at our reflections for a moment (we look very, very well together) before he answers me, “The french blue trousers, then. They go with everything I’ve already packed, and they’ll look better with the violet.”

“Every Holmes in a hundred mile radius will be dazzled by your sartorial nuance, John.”

John grins at my reflection and pinches me, “Your influence, you know. I never used to be such a dandy. You’ve rubbed off on me.”

“I’ve certainly rubbed off on you, John, but not in that regard. You are and have been dandier than I ever was. My influence is only such that you know I adore watching you preen for me.”

“Preen!” John laughs and strokes my hip, “And the hair product.”

Pinch him, “You’ve always used hair product, only now you steal mine. Thief.”

John smothers my pinching with another hug, “It smells like you.” In reply, I can only smile foolishly. He knows just how to disarm me. Just exactly how.

...

“Sherlock?”

“Mmmm?” Sherlock was pretending not to fall asleep on my shoulder on the train down to his mum and dad’s.

“Are you tired?” I put my arm about his waist, and he settled against me a bit more heavily.

“Mnno, why do you ask?” he opened his eyes. “Fishing for compliments?”

I nudged him, “Ha, no. You look a bit sleepy is all. And I wanted to ask you something.”

Sherlock muffled a yawn against my shoulder and cleared his throat, “Ask away, John.”

“How er. How surprised do you think your parents are going to be? About us, I mean. It is a bit sudden and well. They’re. Erm. Older.”

Sherlock raised his head and bounced his eyes over me for a few silent moments before he answered, “You’re asking if I’m out.”

“Well. Yeah. Yes, I suppose I am. That’s part of it.”

Sherlock held his left hand out in front of him and looked at his ring, “Oh I don’t know. I suppose I’ve never much thought of myself as in. I. I’ve never introduced them to any sort of romantic interest. Neither of them have suggested I might in years.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“When I arranged to visit, I did tell them that there wasn’t any need to make up the guest room because you and I would share mine.”

I smiled and reached for his hand, “Well that’s something.” I turned his ring on his finger.

“Indeed,” Sherlock squeezed my hand. “I’ve never told them I’m gay.”

I squeezed back, “Technically you’d never told me either.”

Sherlock sort of giggled, “I rather thought you’d worked it out.”

I kissed his hand, “Well I hadn’t been imagining that you’re straight.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Heaven forfend. Yes, John I’m gay.”

“Is it wrong I never asked before I proposed?”

Sherlock laughed, “Might have made the proposal a trifle awkward. ‘Sherlock, I want to be yours forever; incidentally are you gay?’”

I laughed as well and squeezed his hand, “I’m bisexual. Since we’re on the subject.”

Sherlock nodded and squeezed back, “Yes.Thank you.”

I cleared my throat, “I er. I never said that to anybody before.”

Sherlock nosed my collar, “I know, John. That’s why I thanked you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sat in the back of my parents’ car with my dad’s raincoat over my lap (makes me feel about ten years old)(smells the same), leafing through Dog Fancy. John’s up front with Dad.

“It is so lovely to see you again, John.”

John catches my eye in the rear view mirror, “Cheers, Mr Holmes. Likewise.”

“Oh please, you must call me Milton,” Dad looks at me, too. I raise my eyebrows, and he does as well, “There is a very nice spread of setters in there, Sherlock.”

Drop my eyes back down to my magazine and leaf a bit quicker, “Thanks, Dad.”

“Are you fond of dogs?” John asks. Look up to find him trying to catch eyes with me again. He smiles.

“Oh passionately,” Dad assures him. “Sherlock adores dogs.”

“I er. Don’t know many.”

Dad laughs, but John looks sort of thoughtful, “Passionately fond. Hmm.”

Shrug, look down, “You’ll know a bit about my passionate fondness, John.” John laughs warmly, and I grin, feeling rather warm myself.

“A bit,” John agrees. Suddenly wish he were touching me. The seat’s between us. I set my magazine aside and lean forward to reach my hand over the back of the seat and feel for his. He takes it, and I’m lost briefly in the friction of John’s thumb against my palm.

...

“Oh here are my boys, hello darlings!” Sherlock’s mum met us at the front door and ushered us into the house with hugs and kisses for everyone. Even me. That was a treat. Most people don’t get the urge, looking at me. “Sherlock love, there’s a poor bee got into the kitchen. She’s in a bowl on the windowsill. Could you do the thing? I can never remember how it’s managed.”

“Of course.” Sherlock shoved our bag into a coat cupboard and took me by the hand, “I’m on the case.” Sherlock towed me into the kitchen with him and made right for the pantry. After a moment of rummaging, he found a jar of honey. Sherlock picked up the bowl and went through the side door into the back garden with his bowl of bee and jar of honey, and I followed him. He knelt in the earth next to a rosebush. I knelt as well, out of habit.

“What are we doing?” I peeped over his shoulder into the bowl at the bee, which looked quite dead, honestly.

“We’ll see if we can revive her,” he tipped the bee gently onto the earth, uncapped the jar, and poured a bit of honey on the ground next to the bee. The bee crawled over to drink the honey.

“Oh look at that,” I said. “She’s alive.”

“She’s alive,” Sherlock agreed as the bee flew away to land on the rose bush.

“You’re amazing, you know.”

Sherlock smiled a sweet little smile, “So you say.”  
“You are,” I kissed his cheek, and Sherlock’s smile broadened and he turned to catch my mouth with his. We straightened up, brushing the earth from our trousers to find both of Sherlock’s parents watching us from the side doorway with matching fond smiles.

“Look at you two, sweet as pie,” Mrs Holmes called with a little wave.

Sherlock snorted and took my hand to tow me back into the house, “Only you could look at John and me and say that.”

“Then it’s a lucky thing I’m your mother, isn’t it?” she patted his cheek and linked arms with her own husband, “Come in and help Daddy lay the table. John, my dear, will you see to the wine? And tell us all about how you are. Goodness, it’s been far too long!”

...

About an hour after dinner, and I’m making myself comfortable on the sofa. Prop myself heavily against John, and he slings the arm that isn’t holding his third glass of wine round my shoulder.

“Mind you don’t jostle my wine out of my hand,” he kisses my hair.

Dad pauses in laying a fire (too warm for it but he would anyway) to smile at us, “Your mother had it right, didn’t she?”

“Mmm?” fidget with the outer seam of John’s trousers. Funny to be so intimate in front of other people (touching John is as natural as breathing, and it doesn’t feel any different in front of my parents)(luckily).

“Sweet as pie.”

Roll my eyes, “Where did the pair of you get an idea like that? We’ve never been sweet a day in our lives.”

“Speak for yourself,” John grins and sips his wine. “I’m definitely sweet as pie. Pie a la mode.”

“You tell him, John!” Mum calls from the kitchen.

John pushes himself up slightly to call back, “I will, Margie. I’ll keep him in line for you.” He turns to me, eyebrows raised (growing warm, giddy feeling in my middle)(not as disorientating as I would have expected)(quite lovely, in fact).

“Stop flirting with my mother, John Watson.”

John grins and has another sip of wine, “Never.”

Mum comes out of the kitchen, wiping suds off her hands with a tea towel and kisses John on the top of the head, “I’ll remember that when it comes time to hand round the cake.” John gives her a broad wink, and she laughs. “Now what are you doing over there, Mil? Not the washing up, mm?”

Dad’s off in the corner, fussing with his record player, “Look at this, Margie. Do you remember when you gave me this?” He holds one up, and Mum smiles.  
“The Pretenders? Of course I do. Year before Sherlock was born, wasn’t it? Not exactly soothing chamber music, though.”

“Oh indulge me,” Dad says, “I’m feeling young.”

“Go on, then,” Mum says. “Then you come and help with the washing up.” Dad puts the record on and follows Mum into the kitchen. John and I can hear them dancing about and singing to each other. John grins and grins, and I find myself tapping my foot in time to the music. It makes me feel young, too. Because he is magic, John has just swallowed the last of his wine as the opening chords of Lovers of Today begin.

He sets his glass on the side table and looks at me, “Do you know what you haven’t done in ages?”

Kiss him before I answer, “Tell me what, John.”

John stands and offers me his hand, “Dance with me.” I take it and let him pull me off the sofa. “Do you remember how to follow?” he asks, settling a hand on my waist.

“I remember everything I learn for you, John.”

John hides his grin in my neck and slips one hand up to clasp the back of my head, “Listen to you, you old sop.”

Giggle a bit, “I suppose you’d never have believed it, had you not heard it with your own ears.”

“Nah, ‘course I would,” John’s fingers dance ticklish on the back of my neck. “I know you for real.”

Mum and Dad return to the sitting room with cake and coffee on a tray, just as John is raising me from a dip. Dad sets the tray on a side table and claps. My face gets quite warm, but John looks so pleased with himself that I rather want to laugh.

Something rather different comes out instead, “John and I are getting married!”

“Of course you are, darling!” Mum comes over to hug and kiss us both with Dad just behind her.

“Hang on! Did you know already?” I ask, still clutching one of John’s hands.

“We did think you must have come for something in particular, darling,” Mum pats my cheek.

“And you’re wearing an engagement ring, Sherlock. Give us a little credit,” Dad laughs fondly.

“Well!” I laugh, too, since it’s all I can manage with so many people hugging me.

“God,” John’s voice is a little muffled through this lavish affection. “I can’t wait to be a Holmes.”


End file.
